Unconditional (32 page)

With a delicate sniff, she rose to her feet. Wow, did she move with graceful poise. “I am Natasha Sorensen. The Crown Princess of Delvania.”

I blinked. Gaped at her. Blinked again. My brain refused to process what she’d just said.

“You’re who?”

A faint smile curled her lips, one that said she thought I was a poor, pitiful child, which would have been funny given that she was obviously younger than me if the situation wasn’t so…unbelievable. And surreal.

“Her Royal Highness, Natasha Sorensen, the Crown Princess of Delvania. But you may call me Your Highness.”

My eyebrows shot up my forehead. “My what?”

The situation was starting to sink into my blindsided-brain. Raph’s sister’s sister-in-law was here. A female member of the royal family who’d tried to pay me off. A hot beat of anger throbbed in my temples. My gut clenched. So did my jaw.

“Your Highness,” she supplied, plucking at what I assumed was an inconvenient piece of Australian fluff that had the audacity to attach itself to her sleeve. “You may call me Your Highness.”

Narrowing my eyes, I straightened my shoulders and studied her. “How about I don’t and say I did?”

The condescending smile on her lips faded. “I see. You are one of
those
girls, are you?”

A dry bark burst from me. The words were so similar to the ones used by Raph to put his mom’s mind at ease about me and the media, but used now in such different context. There was no mistaking the Crown Princess of Delvania was using them as a slur against my personality. Screw her.

“If by one of
those
girls, you mean I’m not going to kowtow and grovel at the feet of some obscure European royal person who walks into my home unannounced and uninvited, or accept their degrading, reprehensible bribe, then yes, I
am
one of those girls.”

The princess wrinkled her perfect nose in another sniff. She flicked a quick glance over her shoulder, and for the first time I noticed she hadn’t come alone. Horn stood motionless just inside the guesthouse’s front door, his expression dour, the bulge near his armpit obvious.

My stomach didn’t just clench at the sight of him. It cramped. “Guess I know now why you didn’t help me with the paparazzi, right?” I said, forcing my voice to be calm.

He didn’t look at me. Didn’t even move. He just stood there and oozed threatening menace.

Jesus, this just got…scary.

Flinty eyes returned to me, the princess raking me over from top to toe and back to top again with disdain. “I should have expected this from an American.”

Oh boy. She did not just say that, did she?

Grinding my teeth, I folded my arms over my chest and fixed her with a level glare. “Excuse me, Tash—” the look on her face when I called her Tash was priceless, “—but do you mind telling me why you’re here? Insulting me?”

The princess plucked at the cursed Australian fluff on her sleeve again. “I am here to clear up a matter of importance before you get hurt,
Maci
.”

“Oh, you’re here for me?” I poured every ounce of mocking sarcasm into my voice. “Golly, I don’t know what to say? How’s
go away
sound?”

With another sniff, the princess turned to Horn and clicked her fingers.

He moved like smoke. One second he was a statue at the door, the next he was beside her, dominating the room, flat eyes empty as they zeroed in on me.

I swallowed and took an involuntary step back. Damn it.

But he didn’t proceed farther than the princess’s side. Instead of coming for me, he offered her royal pain in the ass an iPad.

Without a word, she took it from his hand.

He bowed, gave a slight dip at the waist and returned to the door. Silent. I’d never seen the guy so scary.

Which probably explains why my heart was hammering and, goddamn it, my hand was shaking. Balling my fingers into a tight fist, I refused to break eye contact with the princess. Nor did I move to her when she hooked her index finger at me and ordered, “Come here.”

“Why don’t you come here?” I suggested.

She let out a sigh that clearly said I was the biggest inconvenience of her life, and crossed to where I stood. “I think you should see this,” she said, her accent thick. She really did sound like a Bond villain. She looked like she’d stepped from the pages of
Vogue
but sounded like a Bond villain. It messed with my head.

But no more than the image I saw on the iPad when she presented it to me. “Do you recognize the man in this photo?”

I stared at the screen, my pulse pounding. Raph stood on a lush green lawn dressed in the most exquisite tux I’ve ever seen, his dark hair slicked away from his face, his forehead nearly touching that of the breathtakingly gorgeous, willowy blonde who clung to his biceps, her eyes making love to his as she gazed up at him.

It was an image of two people perfectly matched in good looks and sexual allure.

Raph and the very princess currently standing not a foot away from me.

“Perhaps this one?” the princess murmured, swiping her finger tipped with a blood-red and expertly manicured nail over the screen to reveal another image of Raph with her. In this one, his hand was resting on the small of her back, his dimple flashing as he smiled at someone off screen. The princess was pressing her body to his side. Like the previous image, she gazed up at him with open desire.

I swallowed. My mouth was dry. My gut churned.

“Or this one?” She gave another swipe of that blood-red-tipped finger and there was another image of Raph with the princess, who looked more exquisite and fairytale-ish in every image. This time, however, the tux was gone, as was the lawn, replaced with a pair of black board shorts that revealed his incredible body and a poolside like those found only in the homes of gazillionaires. Or royalty.

The princess was there again, delicately perched on the edge of the pool, looking back at him over her shoulder as he spoke to another man dressed in swimming attire. She wore a tiny white and blue bikini that showed off her perfect belly, perfect waist, perfect hips, perfect thighs and perfect breasts. There wasn’t an ounce of fat to be seen. For a surreal moment, I wondered if she was a robot specially designed for royal families to maintain the façade of bloodline supremacy.

And then I blinked and the image became blurred. Damn it, I was not going to cry in front of this little…girl. I wasn’t.

Driving my nails—not blood-red nor manicured—into my palms, I raised my stare from the iPad and fixed it on the princess. “It’s Raph. Your point being?”

She arched an eyebrow. Bitch. That was my attack move. “Raph? How…cute. My point is Raphael has commitments to the Delvanian royal family, as you can see in these images. He has a
place
in the family. By
my
side, in case you didn’t notice that. Raphael and I have a…relationship.”

I refused to blink. I refused to draw breath. Instead, I lifted my own eyebrow. Two can play at that game. “Funny,” I said. “
Relationship
is exactly the word I would use to describe what Raph and I have. I’d also use the words love, not buying it and you don’t intimidate me, bitch.”

She laughed. The Crown Princess of Delvania actually laughed at me. The most scornful, indulgent laugh I’ve ever heard. “Oh, my dear Miss Rowling, I do admire your gumption.” Yes, she truly did use the word gumption. “But it is woefully wasted. Look at these images again. Look at Raphael. He is where he was meant to be. He may have been born a commoner on the wrong side of the world, but he was meant to be in Delvania. Our people adore his sister, and they already respect and admire him. He has been my consort to more than one official royal event, and each time he appears, his popularity increases. I’ve already expressed my desire for a future with him, and Mommy and Daddy,
the
king and queen, are more than happy to accommodate my desire.”

I laughed, holding her stare. “You call your mom and dad Mommy and Daddy?”

“Mommy and Daddy,” she went on, ice forming in her eyes, “are very happy to accommodate my desire to be with Raphael.
As
is Raphael.”

“Bullshit.”

The single word slipped from me, blunt and flat.

She lifted an immaculately waxed eyebrow. “Do you want
more
evidence?” She returned her attention to the iPad in her hand, and before I could stop myself, so did I. I wish I hadn’t.

With swipe after swipe of her finger, a parade of images of her and Raph scrolled across the screen.

Raph in a suit, the crown princess in a stylish gown as they mounted steps to what appeared to be a castle of some sort.

Raph in polo clothes, atop a horse, the crown princess cheering him on from where she sat, ankles crossed on the hood of an expensive-looking SUV.

Raph in a tux, swirling the crown princess around, her ball gown showing off the petite expanse of her waist and the creamy perfection of her shoulders and neck.

Raph and the crown princess.

Raph and the crown princess.

Raph and the crown princess.

I stared at them all, heart wild, head roaring.

“Do you see?” the princess said. “Do you see where he belongs?”

Drawing a slow breath, I looked up at her. “I see a guy in every frame interacting with those around him no more and no less than he’s interacting with the pouty little peroxided-blonde who seems to have a fixation with lilac.” I arched my eyebrow again. Take that, Tashie. “In fact, you almost look—hmmm, how do I put this? You look a little desperate given he only seemed to be
really
acknowledging your presence in the first photo. And that’s because, if I’m not mistaken, you’re treading on his foot, yes?”

The princess’s lips compressed to a thin line. Her eyes grew cold. “I have plans for Raphael, Miss Rowling,” she said, her voice as menacing as her stare. “Plans that don’t include looking after a woman who won’t be able to even dress herself soon, or go a day without popping pills to keep from drooling and lurching about like she is intoxicated. Or who will lose the ability to show any expression on her face.

“Imagine what that woman’s husband would feel like, wondering if his wife is grateful for him being in her life when she never gives him a smile. A woman whose own mother became a burden to those she loved with the very disease that is killing her. Raphael has no place in that life, Miss Rowling. That life is no life at all.” A slow smile curled the princess’s lips. “Is it?”

I slapped her.

I slapped the Crown Princess of Delvania’s royal face.
Hard.

Horn was at her side in a blur, but I didn’t care. I was aching too much to do so.

“Get out,” I ordered, my voice low.

The princess regarded me. She didn’t raise her hand to her cheek where a bright-red imprint of my fingers now branded her flesh. I had to give it to her, she knew how to handle her shit.

“Get out,” I repeated. “Unless you want me to show you just what this here
American
can do when pissed. And trust me, it doesn’t just involve name calling and hair pulling.”

Horn’s nostrils flared. And yep, there went his hand to the inside his jacket lapel. What kind of gun was he going to pull on me?

The princess halted his draw with a wave of her hand. She smiled at me, cold triumph in her eyes. “Do not bother, Nikolaj. I do believe I have achieved what I intended to.”

She raked another gaze over me, tearing me apart, and then with a slight dip of her head, she turned and walked to the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Rowling,” she said as she stood on the threshold, her smile smug. Cruel. “I wish you luck with your future. ’Tis such a shame someone as beautiful as yourself is afflicted with such a humiliating, insidious sickness. I hope you battle it with dignity.”

And then she was gone. Through the door, down the steps. Gone.

Horn studied me, silent, that same unreadable expression on his face I’d grown to loathe. And then he too left. Without a word.

Leaving me alone in the guesthouse.

I lasted on my feet for approximately two seconds. Two seconds of stubborn refusal to surrender to the bone-deep tremors fighting to overwhelm me. Two seconds of sheer obstinate refusal to crumple under the weight of the princess’s hideous words.

Two seconds.

And then the weight of those hideous words crushed me and I dropped to the floor, tears like acid in my eyes.

Because everything she’d said, every strike she’d landed, had all driven home a truth I’d been too deliriously happy to accept.

Raph being with me only fucked up
his
future. My future was already set in stone, but
his
wasn’t. I had no right to mess up his future. No right to expect him to sacrifice his future for me. And he would. I had no doubt about that. He would.

The cold, harsh truth lashed at me and I squeezed my eyes shut. I knew what the princess was doing, I knew she was emotionally manipulating me and I hated her for it. Hated her for the vile tactic.

Hated her even more for ripping from my face the rose-colored glasses I’d been wearing since Raph turned up in Gunnedah six days ago.

My gut churned. My heart—stupid, naïve, deluded organ that it was—broke.

As much as I hated to admit it, Natasha Sorensen, Crown Princess of the Brutal Truths, was correct. Raph
didn’t
deserve the life of looking after a burden. Not when he had a different life—the life captured in the images in her iPad—waiting for him. Not when he had a princess waiting for him.

An American Parkinson’s disease sufferer or a real-life European princess more stunning than I could ever hope to be. A life caring for a woman who would one day be incapable of climbing out of a chair without assistance, or a life of minders and nannies and personal cooks and luxury and parties and balls and…and…

I bit back a sob. I had to accept it. As much as I wanted to let Raph decide his future with me—a decision he’d already made clear—I had to stop being selfish.

Opening my eyes, I raised my head and ran my tear-stingy stare around the guesthouse. Noted all the places Raph and I had made love. Imprinted on my psyche all the moments we’d shared here in two and a half short, glorious days together.